The Chesapeake Ripper
by shoplifterette
Summary: A/U. Clarice Starling, FBI rookie, joins the FBI team that is hunting the Chesapeake Ripper. Lecter/Starling.
1. Chesapeake Ripper

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Thomas Harris

A/N: This is my take on the Lecter/Starling romance. It's an AU, as you'll see soon enough. I've written this story in German and now I am trying my hand at the english translation. Please excuse my errors - I'm no native speaker and I still need a beta. Enjoy! Feedback / Constructive Criticism is always welcome.

Clarice Starling, 25 years old, hurried down the hall of the FBI Academy in Quantico. She was on her way to the office of Jack Crawford, head of the department of behavioral science. Crawford had summoned her, and she was surprised - he was currently stuck up to his neck in work. The grisly murders in the "Chesapeake Ripper" case left him no time to breathe.

The press pounced like vultures onto the failure of the renowned experts. Crawford, Will Graham and Alan Bloom were caught up in the crossfire of public criticism. While the more serious newspapers only attacked the approach of the FBI, the tabloids showed less restraint - the work of the whole department was dragged through the mud and Crawford's expertise was questioned publicly. The National Tattler, sensationalist as always, went one step further. In its latest article on the case, the Tattler only barely concealed its insinuation that the killer probably even was a member of the FBI team of experts. Otherwise, the tabloid concluded, it could not be explained that the investigation had proved fruitless so far.

Clarice snorted contemptuously. She too had already been suffering from the poisonous pen of Tattler columnist Freddy Lounds. Although she was not strictly part of the case, she was called to the site where the corpse of the victim was found. It was the ninth known victim of the killer. She was in Baltimore at the time, to plan a raid with the BTA. Because of her pychological training, Crawford had immediately asked her to look at the crime scene after the body was found. Crawford and his team would have taken another hour to reach Baltimore, and they could not afford to lose anymore time. In a case like that, every second counted. Starling had initially thought that this would be her big chance. The ambitious young woman, who had completed her training last year at the academy, wanted nothing more than to be able to work in the department of behavioral science.

The crime scene investigation itself was run smoothly. But Starling couldn't get the grisly scene out of her mind even now. The dead man, who had been leaning against the front door of a museum like he was sleeping, was gruelly disfigured by the Ripper. His face, half hidden by an old-fashioned hat, seemed to have been mauled. A gash ran across his left cheek, his lips were torn and his tongue was cut in half. The heavy bleeding indicated that the injuries were inflicted on the man when he was still alive. Death had occured a few hours later. Apparently, the Ripper grew tired of waiting for the man to bleed to death and cut his throat. The upper body of the man was cut open, not unlike an autopsy. It seemed as if the Ripper had taken another souvenir. Not for the first time, the team speculated about a possible medical background of the killer

As always, the Ripper left no traces at the crime scene. Of more concern to Starling, however, was the fact that the Ripper seemed to have had no difficulties in placing the body of his victim on a main road without being seen. This approach showed either the carelessness, the stupidity or the utter coolness of the killer - Clarice was sure that the last one was the case. While the young woman examined the crime scene to get a feel for the thoughts of the murderer, she was interrupted by Freddy Lounds, who wanted to get access to the site with unparalleled audacity. When Clarice stopped him from entering the crime scene and told him what she thought of people like him – slimy little rat were the words that had left her mouth – she had sealed her fate.

In the next edition of the Tattler, she was portrayed as a hysterical, zealous young agent, who threatened the investigation with her temperament. Clarice Starling, Lounds wrote, was the best evidence that jobs in the bureau should be done by men, not by women.

Starling still seethed with anger when her thoughts went back to the article. But there was no place for anger and bitterness now. She had to prepare herself for the meeting with Crawford. She feared that he had summoned her to talk about the newspaper report. She was sure that Crawford would not be pleased. "If this pseudo-reporter Lounds damaged my career," she thought spitefully, "then he won't have to wait for the Chesapeake Ripper to catch him."

As it turned out, however, Crawford had no intention to lecture her about press relations. When she entered his office, he was engrossed in a phone call. He smiled at her briefly. While she settled down on a chair, the department head ended the conversation. "Well, Will you pursue the matter further. We both know that he is our man. I'll call you back later," said Crawford, before ended the phone call without a word of farewell. He rubbed his eyes briefly and then sat behind his desk. "This man drives me insane", he whispered before he turned his attention to Starling.

„Hello, agent Starling. It's good to see you could make it this fast. You've done a good job in Baltimore, even though the director is giving me hell about the press reports", said Crawford.

Starling smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Mr. Crawford. I am very grateful that you gave me the opportunity to work on the case, " replied the young woman. "I believe there's no one in law enforcement that does not want to bring the man responsible for the killings to justice."

Crawford nodded, while he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Do you want one, too? Well, I need one now. I've been on duty since yesterday morning, you know. My wife is going to read me the riot act when I get home tonight, I guess, " he said with a wry smile. Crawford raised his cup of black coffee to his lips and took a big gulp. He scratched his head briefly and then quickly flipped through a file that lay before him on his desk. Clarice watched him curiously. She wondered not for the first time why he had summoned her.

Crawford sighed and slammed the file shut. "I bet you're wondering why you're here," Crawford said. "Well, it's thanks to our friend, the Chesapeake Ripper. Although you're new to the job, I'd like you to join the task force," he said as he eyed the young woman. Clarice hardly dared to breathe.

"Thank you, sir," she replied after a short pause. "I really want to help to catch him." Crawford seemed to be strangely satisfied with their response.

"Good," he said. "Are you up to date on the investigation?"

Starling collected her thoughts for a moment. She had only skimmed the file while she was on the way to the crime scene in Baltimore. „I know that the killer is responsible for at least nine murders. Every single one of the victims is male, middle-aged and heavily mutilated. The weapon of choice is a knife, a blade. Exception ist he bow hunter, who had additional arrow wounds. The murderer took his time, none of the victims died where they were found. Presumably, the culprit has killed them in a remote location, possibly even in his own home", she said. Crawford nodded and asked her to continue.

„Each of the victims was missing an organ, in three cases more than one. The precise cuts suggest anatomical knowledge, the offender probably has some kind of medical training. Evidence of sexual abuse are absent in each case, it seems the perpetrator solely is only interested in the killing itself. He's very cautious and has left no clear traces so far. The evidence indicates that the offender is an intelligent psychopath, probably white and 25-35 years. Probably a sadist, who enjoys the suffering of his victims. He knows how to wield a knife and makes no mistakes. He's educated - many of the tableaux in which he arranges his victims are full with historical allusions. The prime example of this is the archer, the wound man. He has clearly taken a liking to what he does – he's never going to stop. " Starling threw Crawford a bitter look. "And we do not have the slightest idea who he is."

Starling was surprised to see Crawfords grim smile. "Your profile is quite good, my compliments. It describes very precisely the man we are trying to catch. There's only one point you aren't aware of: We are pretty sure we already know who he is. "

"I have heard nothing of an arrest". Starling said, clearly surprised.

„That's good, we've tried to keep it out of the media fort he moment. The man's free again anyway. We can't prove anything so far", Crawford said, frustrated. „The man of whom I speak is incredibly intelligent and very charismatic. Our interrogation amused him because he knew we couldn't prove anything without a confession at the moment. He's even taken a voluntary lie detector test and passed it easily. He showed no emotion. The man is completely impenetrable. After the polygraph test, the detention judges ordered us to let him go. We can only hope that the bastard is now cautious and takes a break - but I wouldn't bet on that. "

Starling swallowed. "Why are you so sure that he is the killer, Mr. Crawford?"

Crawford crossed his arms and glanced at his desk before he looked at her. "He fits the profile. He is 41 years old and has a medical education. Two of the victims have been patients of him in the past three years - reason enough to examine him closer, we thought. As soon as we entered his office, we knew that it was him. On the wall was a picture of the wound man", said Crawford.

„He knew that we suspected him, although he stayed completely calm. He showed not the slightest hint of fear, on the contrary – he seemed to be enjoying himself when we questioned him. We asked him to come to the police station, and he immediately agreed to do so. Called it his „civic duty" and smirked at us. At the police station, he denied everything and pointed to his impeccable conduct. Nevertheless, we brought him to the custodial judge. But Judge Myers has accused us hold him for no reason and without concrete suspicion. We had to let him go again. Before he left the court, he spoke briefly with me and Graham. He wished us luck in the continuing investigation and emphasized that we would probably need it. Then he winked at us and called a cab. "

Crawford sighed briefly and ran his fingers through his hair. „If either me or Graham Stopp by again to interrogate him, he can sue us for police harassement. That's why I want you to talk to him again in his practice."

Starling raised her eyebrows, surprised. It was not often that an FBI rookie got a job like this. She did'nt need half a second to decide that she would do it. This was the chance she'd been waiting for. "And who is the suspect, Sir?"

Crawford took off his glasses and looked at her. "The psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter."


	2. The suspect

As Clarice Starling drove in her Mustang on the highway to Baltimore, shethought over the events of the last hours again, carefully examining each detail. She knew that she had to be perfectly prepared for the encounter with the man who, at least in Crawford's opinion, was responsible for at least nine murders. Still, she was unsure. She wondered what reason a renowned psychiatrist like Dr. Lecter would have to kill people in such a gruesome manner. She herself had read some articles of him, which were still quite clear in her memory because of their brilliance. No question, Dr. Lecter was an expert in his field. But she was all to aware that a high social standing and a superior intellect certainly weren't an exclusion criterion for a true psychopath. Ted Bundy and the infamous BTK killer came to mind, both of which had eluded the authorities succesfully for years because of their. And during all this time, they led a life that seemed completely ordinary from the outside.

Starling sighed. It made no sense to think about older cases from her point of view unspeakable crimes of the Chesapeake Ripper were unprecedented in the recent past. Most serial killers, which the FBI had to deal with, had a sexual motive. Offenders where this was not the case were much, much harder to catch. Should he really be the culprit, Dr. Lecter's motive was totally in the dark.

Starling shook her head as she turned left at a crossroad. She decided to rely not primarily on her training, but more on her instincts in her conversation with the doctor. Because Crawford and Graham were both convinced they found the right man in Lecter, she had to proceed cautiously - after all, Graham's insight into the mind of serial killers was almost legendary within the walls of Quantico. She'd better play it safe, even if she did not believe that a man of Lecter's intelligence would risk attacking an FBI agent in his very own practice. Still, she was worried. If the doctor was indeed responsible for the crimes, she thought anxiously, then he was undoubtedly insane.

"You better tell him right away that Crawford has sent you, and knows whom you are talking to," she muttered quietly to himself. "A little caution can not hurt."

Clarice parked her car in a private parking lot in front of a delicatessen shop. The place was reserved for patients of Lecter, but right now there were only three other vehicles present: a yellow sports car, an old Ford and a black Bentley, which she knew belonged to the doctor. The car was simple and elegant. Involuntarily, Starling asked herself whether he had ever used it in connection with the murders. For a while, she stayed behind the wheel of her car and watched the road, angry at her own nervousness. She had dealt with murderers, rapists and other criminals before, it wasn't as if this were a new thing for her. And with Dr. Lecter, it was not even sure if he had done anything at all.

She blinked once, and rose from her seat as she left the car. She carefully examined the building which housed the practice of the psychiatrist. It was a beautiful, well-kept old building in one of the more upscale neighborhoods of Baltimore. Although she herself had never been wealthy, the classic elegance of the building was immediately apparent to her. Starling liked it very much - and the part of her that was still influenced by her upbringing in the Lutheran orphanage was embarrassed, by this. His patients have to be rich, Clarice thought, as she slowly made her way to the entrance of the building.

Her hand was already raised over the brass-colored bell, when she decided to wait a few more moments before visiting the doctor. She wanted to get a feel for the man whom she would meet in a few minutes. Apparently absent, she strolled across the street and turned to a newsstand near an intersection. She flipped through a magazine, a newspaper tucked under her arm and then turned to the man behind the counter. He was a kindly, elderly gentleman, who smiled warmly. "Hello, my lady," he greeted them. "Only those two?"

"Yes, exactly," said Clarice, as she searched for her wallet in her purse. "I have an appointment with Dr. Lecter, and do not know how long I'll be stuck in the waiting room. Because of that, I wanted to stock up with some reading material before I enter his practice." She gave the man a short smile and wondered if he knew the doctor well.

The newspaper seller laughed merrily. "Oh, I think you worry in vain. Dr. Lecter hates rude people almost as much as cheap wine. If you have an appointment, you won't have to wait," said the man, as he handed her the change. "I've never seen you here before. Is this your first appointment? Yes? Don't worry. I meet cpeople who are nervous before an appointment with him constantly - his sharp pen with which he writes reviews, often unfavourable, of plays and concerts, is notorious in the area. But I assure you I've tnever experienced the doctor as anything but courteous and polite. As the saying goes: dogs that bark don't bite." The newspaper seller smiled at her.

Starling laughed politely, but secretly wondered if the saying was true on Dr. Lecter account, too. If he really is our man, she thought, then he seems to be quite fond of biting. The autopsy reports were alarmingly detailed in this regard.

Clarice waved at the newspaper vendor and then turned back to the road. She did not want to delay her interwiev with the doctor even longer. As things stood, Crawford wanted her report on her conversation with Lecter this evening. Why he expressed such an urgency, Clarice did not know. After all, it was highly unlikely that the doctor would suddenly, overwhelmed by guilt, give a full confession, after he he passed the polygraph test and had denied any involvement in the killings to Graham and Crawford. The idea amused her, and she smiled as she rang the doorbell.

Barely five seconds later, the door opened. A good looking middle-aged woman greeted her and led her into the practice. Starling liked ther at the first glance. "Good day, my name is Rosemary Bell. What can I do for you? Do you have an appointment with Dr. Lecter?"

"No, not directly," said Starling as she took off her coat. "My name is Clarice Starling, FBI. Mr. Crawford has sent me to speak with the doctor. "

The expression on the face of the woman who had previously seemed so nice to Clarice darkened. "I can not believe that you're still after him," murmured Mrs. Bell, as she reached behind the desk for the phone. "I will inform Dr. Lecter that you are here immediately."

Starling nodded briefly and looked around in the practice. The decor was classy, even for her untrained eyes. In the corner near the door stood a comfortable chair. Starling was just about to sit down on it, as Mrs. Bell spoke to her again. "That will not be necessary, Ms. Starling. The doctor will receive you immediately. If you would please follow me." She sounded like she was forcing herself to be polite.

Clarice followed the woman, who took her to a room down the hall. She smiled friendly at the receptionist and knocked on the door.

"Please come in," came a voice from the other side of the door. The voice sounded pleasantly dark, with a slight metallic undertone. No voice that made Clarice think of imminent danger. She opened the door and entered.

Dr. Lecter was sitting at the other end of the room in a dark leather armchair. His back was turned toward her, he was apparently still in the midst of a phone call. Without turning, he raised his hand in apology. "All right, Mr. Jacobs. I'll think about it. Thanks, I'll report back to you later. Goodbye," the doctor said to the person at the other end of the line before he hung up the phone. Then, he turned around and stood up from his chair.

Starling was surprised. The man did not look like a typical scholar at all, nor like a dangerous killer. Dr. Lecter was slim and dark-haired. He was elegant and graceful, an impression which was strengthened by the fact that he was rather small, perhaps less than two inches taller than herself. His clothes were exceptionally well chosen. Starling instinctively looked at his hands, they were beautiful and perfectly manicured. On his left hand, the doctor had six fingers. Clarice looked up and raised her eyes to meet his. They were a deep maroon. The doctor looked and smiled nicely at her before offering her his hand.

"Good day, Ms. Starling. It is a pleasure to meet you - although I must admit that I suspect the reason for your visit is is less then pleasing," he greeted her, with a slightly mocking smile on his lips. "Please sit down. I suppose you want to talk to me about this horrible series of murders?" He gestured invitingly on a chair in front of his desk. The doctor seemed to be completely at ease.

Clarice returned his greeting, smiled at him briefly and then sat down on the chair. "You are right as far as it comes to the reason for this visit, Dr. Lecter. Mr. Crawford has sent me to speak with you again," said Starling. Her voice was calm. Good.

Dr. Lecter, who was now sitting down again, folded his hands and looked at her with mild amusement. "Mr. Crawford seems to be a very stubborn man, Agent Starling. The judge himself ruled that there was no solid evidence against me. Oh well, even though his suspicions against me are rather insulting, I can't say I'm surprised. But before we continue with our conversation, I must ask you to show me your ID. In this times, you never know - you might be a reporter." Briefly, his small white teeth flashed in an amused smile.

Starling gave him an inexplicable look and reached for her purse, searching for her badge and ID. "Of course, Dr. Lecter. Just a moment."

She did not know what to think of Hannibal Lecter at all. He was very polite, but his unnatural calm threw her off a bit. Something about him seemed troubling. Nevertheless, he held a certain fascination for her. He was undoubtedly a man who was completely at peace with himself, never to be troubled by petty insecurities. Nevertheless, Clarice could understand why Graham and Crawford and suspected him. Something about him seemed unreal - maybe it was his penetrating gaze, which he had not turned away from her, since he had ended his phone call.

Starling took her badge and ID from her bag and looked up. The eyes of the doctor rested on her, but this time she felt a certain curiosity behind his red-brown eyes. She was overcome with the unpleasant certainty that he was fully aware of what she had just been thinking.

When Dr. Lecter had checked her ID, he smiled at her. Starling shuddered involuntarily, but that didn't seem to bother him. His smile grew wider. "Thank you, Agent Starling. I see you've told me the truth. Can I offer you something to drink, perhaps, before we proceed? Really? Well, how can I help you then? I hardly think that Mr. Crawford has sent you to me to convey an apology for his baseless allegations? "

Starling held his amused gaze and tried to gather her thoughts. "No, Dr. Lecter, I do not think that Agent Crawford intends to apologize to you." With mock surprise, Lecter raised an eyebrow. She continued, undeterred. "I'd rather speak to you about your relationship to two of the murder victims."

Dr. Lecter leaned forward in interest and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Well, I'm not sure if I would speak of a relationship. Mr. Raspail was a patient of mine, that's true. We had a total of six sessions. To be honest Raspail was a pretty boring patient with a penchant for drama. But one should not speak ill of the dead, hmm? "Lecter winked at her briefly and then continued.

"The man whom the press knews as the "wound man" I know only fleetingly, I have dealt with him many years ago, in the emergency room. An extremely rude young man, but harmless. I can not really imagine why I should have any desire to kill him. Rudeness alone seems like a very weak motive to me," said Lecter. His smile reminded her of a crocodile. "Regrettable as these deaths may be, Agent Starling, I'm afraid I can not help you in this case."

Starling looked at the psychiatrist suspiciously. He was attractive, sure, and he had impeccable manners. Nevertheless, he made her slightly uncomfortable. The way he emphasized certain words and the fact that he seemed to be amused when her suspicions arose, had a certain effect on her. Again it occurred to her, that the suspicions of Crawford and Graham weren't completely incomprehensible. Ordinarily, a man whom they interrogated in a murder investigation would show some sign of nervousness. Lecter was the opposite: He was completely composed and seemed to have no problems with the situation. Starling was suspicious.

"I'm sorry, sir, but your regret seems to be a little insincere to me," Clarice saif to him. Lecter's eyes seemed to laugh. "Why don't you make it easier for me to believe you, and tell me where you were during the time of the murders?"

Hannibal Lecter seemed to be even more amused. He gave a low, barely audible laugh. Starling was surprised to notice that she liked it. "Oh, Clarice! Can I call you Clarice? Very well. I must admit that it is a pleasure to speak with you. So refreshingly honest and forthright. And so wonderfully manipulative. Bravo, Clarice! "

Lecter looked at her intently and smiled. "About my whereabouts during the murder nights, I can not help you there, unfortunately, right now. I am a very busy man, my hobbies have quite a claim on me at the moment. "He made a significant pause, and winked at her. "But when I think about it, I'll check my Filofax. Maybe you should come back in a couple of days again, Clarice?"

Starling gave him an irritated look. "I am pleased that you are so exceptionally willing to cooperate, Dr. Lecter," she said ironically. "But why can't you check it out right now? I have the necessary information right here, pocket, and your schedule is in front of you. "

Dr. Lecter seemed pleased. "Ah, you're wonderfully frank. Delightful," said the doctor, while he hid his smile behind his six-fingered hand. "I would really like to help you, Clarice, but I'm afraid I haven't got the time right now. In a few hours, I will give a dinner for the board of the Baltimore Philharmonic Orchestra. The meat that I want to serve today evening is quite difficult to handle and quickly ruined. So I have to be at home in a few minutes - otherwise I have to go on the hunt for a replacement, and wouldn't that be a bother?", continued the doctor in a friendly conversational tone. His smile seemed strangely threatening.

Starling thought for a moment. Maybe it would be a good idea to interrogate the doctor again in a couple of days. Should he really be the culprit, she reasoned, it would be good if he would feel like he was under close this could tempt him to make a mistake.

Clarice gave him a friendly nod. "All right, Dr. Lecter. Since this is not a formal interrogation, you are free, of course, to speak with again another time. During the next week, I'll come to your practice again - even if I can not say exactly when that will be. I hope you will spend a nice evening with your guests, doctor!" Starling stood up and grabbed her purse. Dr. Lecter also got up and held the door open for the young agent.

"Thank you for your understanding, Clarice. I will accompany you to your car, if you're agreeable," said Dr. Lecter politely..

When Clarice was back in her car and well on the way to Quantico, she could not help the impression of having missed something important in her conversation with the doctor..


	3. Girl's night in

Two days later, Clarice had the almost forgotten the nagging feeling that she had missed something important. She was too angry. The culprit wasn't hard to identify for everyone who knew her. Paul Krendler from the Justice Department had visited her in her office today..

Starling was sure she'd never before knew a man whom she instinctively found so repugnant. Unfortunately Krendler seemed like he didn't share her feelings, quite the contrary. It drove her to madness, just thinking of his greasy smile and his totally unfounded arrogance. Almost every time she saw him, he offered lewd commentary. Even if he did not, he gave himself up to his second favorite pastime: Ruining Starling's career with everything he could think of. No wonder that he just loved the horrific article that the Tattler had published about her. He faced her for more than two hours, repeating the same old allegations that he found so hard to resisit: "Starling, you are far too emotional for the Bureau. You will get nowhere, if you don't learn to keep your mouth shut." It was apparent how much fun this was for him.

Starling parked her car in front of the duplex she shared with Ardelia Mapp and tried to get her mind to stop thinking of Krendler. This disgusting guy isn't even worth wasting your time to think about him, she thought. Until Krendler interrupted her in her office, her day had been good. Since Crawford involved her into the investigation of the case of the Chesapeake Ripper, she rediscovered her passion for working at the FBI. The feeling that as a woman, she would always have to fight against the male establishment, had almost left her. Clarice was thankful to Crawford for this chance. She felt good working on a case that demanded her full attention, instead of the same old drug raids over and over again. And this was the case with the Chesapeake Ripper, who'd chosen Baltimore as his favourite hunting ground.

Clarice left her Mustang and went to the front door. She decided to leave her work behind for the time being. She needed a break, after Krendler's accusations. Starling opened the door and saw that Ardelia Mapp was already at home – her coat was on the hanger beside the entrance to the duplex. Clarice liked the orderly, down-to-earth Mapp. She'd befriended her on her first day of the FBI-Academy. Even though both women couldn't have been more different, they were very close. Starling was glad she shared the duplex with her – having grown up in a crowded orphanage, she hated coming back to an empty home.

On days like this, she was especially glad she wasn't alone. Nobody but Mapp could cheer her up effortlessly. And even if that didn't work for once, Mapp was very creative. Making up wicked plans for revenge on those who wronged them was fun. On the end of such a "judgement day", both women usually lay side by side on the couch, a glass of whiskey in their hands and laughing their asses off.

"Don't ever deny your anger", Mapp had said to her once. "That as bad as denying your sadness or your disappointment. Your anger belongs to you. It's an honest feeling. If you are feeling murderous because some kind of fucker, then you are feeling murderous. Don't keep it all in. I'll never want to hear again that you are angry at yourself for feeling angry. You don't need to feel bad about this. Understood?"

Starling had understood.

"Shit, Ardelia – where are you? I need to talk to you", Starling called out over her shoulder, while she dropped off her coat. "Paul Krendler decided to pay me a visit today, and gave me hell for the article in the Tattler."

A metallic sound came out of the kitchen, followed by a loud curse. Starling smirked. Seemed like Ardelia herself wasn't too happy today. "Not surprised in the least, girl", she heard Mapp say in answer. "This day is just full of shit. You've got to deal with Krendler, and I have to endure another long lecture from Pearsall."

Another loud curse made its way out of the kitchen. "Hey Clarice, why don't you get two glasses for us? I could use a good mouthful of whiskey this evening, don't you agree? You've got a free day coming up tomorrow, too, yes?"

"Damn right, I don't have to go to work tomorrow", said Starling as she took two big glasses out of a cupboard. She pushed a few magazines and the remote out of the was and put them on the table. "What are you doing in the kitchen, Ardelia?"

Ardelia chose this moment to enter the living room. Her back turned halfway to Starling, she pushed her foot against the door to open it. In her arms, she carried a steaming tray. "Out of my way, girl, out of my way", she said. Starling stepped quickly to the side and cleared off the table, the magazines pushed to the side a moment earlier, she threw onto a chair.

"Thanks, Clarice", said Mapp as she put the tray onto the table. "This thing was hot as hell".

Clarice peered at the tray – Mapp had made pizza. Starling grinned and clapped her hands. "Ardelia, you're unbelievable. How could you know that I've had such a shitty day? Have you become psychic? That's exactly what I need right now: Greasy, unhealthy food and some good old Jack Daniels. You're an angel."

Ardelia smirked at her and disappeared back into the kitchen. When she came back, she carried knives and forks in her hands. Starling had gotten the whiskey in the mean time. She poured a generous amount into both of their glasses, and passed Ardelia her whiskey. After clinking the glasses together, Starling and Mapp emptied their drink in one swig. Mapp clicked her tongue and sat down beside Clarice on the floor. "I really needed that. Do you think we'll manage to eat the whole tray?"

Starling raised her eyebrows. "I've got the feeling we're about to have a long night. I don't really think the pizza will survive this." Mapp laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking. If a woman can't even have a decent 'I'm oh-so-frustrated' meal anymore, the world is coming to an end."

Clarice cut two generous slices off of the pizza and passed one to Ardelia. For two minutes, both of them ate in blessed silence, then Mapp continued to speak. "Do you know, Clarice – sometimes I think that this whole bullshit we've got to deal with can't be a coincidence. It's always the same shit, it never stops. I don't think we'll ever be accepted in the bureau, as we are women. Everyone knows we're doing a damn good job. But they take it for granted, and I don't think they'll ever really acknowledge it. No", said the dark-skinned woman, while her voice was shaking with anger. "Instead we're punished for it. Thank god that Crawford, at least, is a decent guy. I think he's probably the only section chief that doesn't care about his agents' gender."

Starling nodded thoughtfully. "Crawford is alright. Pretty fair. Takes his job very seriously, in contrast to all the other section chiefs." She took another bite of her pizza. "But now, tell me Ardelia. Why did Pearsall want to talk to you today? Was it Anapolis?"

Mapp snorted contemptuously and filled their glasses with whiskey again. "Of course it was Anapolis", she said, playing with the glass in her hands, obviously frustrated. She took a sip and a deep breath, then continued to speak. "One should think that my boss would be happy that I arrested an international arms dealer like Lyson. But Pearsall can't stand the thought that I acted alone and independently when I had the chance." Angrily, she tore at the napkin in her hand. "What should I have done then, should I have waited until he'd boarded the helicopter to make his escape? I had to take action – there was no time to discuss everything with Pearsall first. And now, the bastard wants to transfer me to some boring desk job, because to him, I am too damn unpredictable. A loose cannon."

Starling wasn't surprised. Months before, it had occurred to her that hard and good work were worth nothing to the FBI if you weren't a man. It was terribly sexist, but true nonetheless. She raised her glass and took a sip. The whiskey burned in her throat. After she put her glass back on the table, she raised her eyes to meet Ardelia's. "Yeah, it would be too much to ask him to be fair and say something like: Well done, Mapp. This is such a shit. Do you think that's ever going to change? That our accomplishments will be praised instead of holding our good work against us?"

Mapp smiled sadly and shook her head. "I don't think so. These guys aren't aware that there is such a thing like self-criticism, so I won't hold my breath. They are never going to change. Why should they? They are in a rather comfortable position: They can blame us for their mistakes. And envy us when we are successful because we are damn good agents. No, this is never going to change." Ardelia appeared resigned to their fate. "But enough of that shit. Krendler visited you today, yes? Has the disgusting little creep hit on you again?"

Clarice rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. "What do you think? Of course he did. As if he'd miss a chance to make my life miserable. He's even given me a charming new nickname today – corn pone country pussy." Starling breathed in deeply and took another sip of her whiskey.

Mapp wasn't amused. "He didn't really say that, did he? You have to report this. Talk to Crawford – maybe ha can put the old lecher back into his place. I can't believe it."

Starling shook her head. "No, I don't think this will help. Krendler does as he pleases anyway. Crawford can't change that. But it doesn't really matter, this time, Krendler didn't come to hit on me anyway. He gave me hell about that article in the Tattler. I swear, if Lounds crosses my path one more time, I'm going to kill him myself, and with my bare hands. As if I wasn't in enough trouble as it is." Mapp grinned at her. "Anyway, Krendler did just love this opportunity to harass me. I had to endure his endless ramblings for two long hours – I'm surprised he didn't get bored, as he repeated the same accusations over and over."

Ardelia laughed. "I'm not surprised. Krendler is an ass, and a dumb one at that." She punched Clarice slightly on the shoulder. "Crawford isn't going to be unreasonable about this, though? You're still working on the Chesapeake Ripper case?"

Starling nodded. After her talk with Lecter, the section chief of the Behavioural Science unit had told her to keep investigating the psychiatrist. "Yes, Crawford still wants me on the team, thank heavens. That is exactly the kind of work that brought me to the FBI in the first place. I think I might have quit the job if I'd been on surveillance duty for one more time." Clarice shot Ardelia a crooked smile and ran her fingers through her hair. "Next week, I'm going to talk to the suspect again. I'm curious to see what Dr. Lecter will have to tell me by then – who knows, he might even have an alibi."

Mapp looked at her thoughtfully while she refilled their glasses. "What's Lecter like, anyway? I read an article he wrote while in college – pretty good stuff, though kind of hard to grasp. Brilliant, in every way. Do you think he's the killer?"

Starling licked her lips and thought for a moment. She raised her right hand to her eyebrows and drank a sip of her Jack Daniels. "I'm not entirely sure, Ardelia. Something is strange about him. But I can't really say I think he's a killer just because he's an unusual man. I've no idea if he is the culprit. Crawford and Graham seem pretty convinced he is, though", she said.

Ardelia looked at her. "Yes, but what do you think about him, personally?

Clarice leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. "I don't really know. While I talked to him, he was very courteous, very polite. He's without a doubt the most intelligent man I've ever met. Honestly, to me it's a bit hard to imagine he's the Chesapeake Ripper. He seems to be so relaxed, so at ease with himself. He's nobody you'd imagine to be slaughtering people when you first glance at him." Starling paused, thinking for a minute. "Of course that doesn't have to mean anything – psychopaths are famous for their ability to manipulate others. And he seemed to be enjoying himself when he spoke to me. Honestly, to me he seemed a bit like a cat playing with a mouse during our talk – I felt rather uneasy at that time. But still, he fascinated me. He's pretty impenetrable."

Ardelia nodded at her and took another sip. Then, she looked at her intensely a d grinned. "You're interested in him, then? You like him?" Starling gave her a long-suffering glance, which Mapp ignored entirely. "Is he attractive?"

Starling snorted. "I think I'll just ignore your line of questioning, if you don't mind. Even I have my limits. I won't talk to you about some hypothetical interest that I might or might not have in a suspect in a serial murder investigation."

"That's a yes, then", Mapp said, smirking slightly. Clarice moaned with annoyance. Ardelia laughed. "Alright, I'll stop. Come on girl, I just wanted to mess with you." Mapp raised her glass and looked into her friend's eyes. "And now, without further delay, we'll forget about work, insane killers and sexist colleagues for the rest of the evening. I propose we get drunk and forget about all that shit for now – what do you think?"

Starling didn't need to be told twice.


End file.
